


Ye'll Take the High Road

by AstriferousSprite



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, accidentally projecting my own trauma here whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstriferousSprite/pseuds/AstriferousSprite
Summary: Poe was no stranger to loss.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "The Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond."

Poe Dameron was no stranger to loss.

The first time he experienced it was when his mother succumbed to her tumor back when he was eight, when the possibility of death had formerly been nothing but a nightmare. On some level, he’d known this day would come for almost a year; his once-energetic mother had become quiet and bedridden, lively stories had turned to muted half-sentences turned to deafening silence. Even so, nothing could prepare him for the sting that morning, when his father had shaken him awake with tears in his eyes, painfully announcing that “she’s dead.” Poe could do nothing but weep, loudly and openly, as his father held him close.

In the immediate aftermath, Poe couldn’t bring himself to continue learning to fly; it reminded him too much of her. As soon as he turned thirteen, though, he continued, piloting an old A-wing under the watchful eye of Shara’s old squadmate. Every time L’ulo commented on his technique, Poe felt like he was somehow getting closer to his mother. And despite himself, he couldn’t help but wonder how she would have been if their life had turned out otherwise.

Would she have been as gentle as L’ulo in the cockpit? Would she have cracked the same jokes, tensed up at the same near-accidents, praised the same moments of smooth flying? Or would she have been more stern, lecturing him nonstop through the air? Even if there was no way to tell, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her. For a time, he even grew his hair out in her memory—until it got caught in his helmet and he realized that he’d prefer to keep it short.

The evening before Poe left for the Republic Starfleet, his father had pulled him aside.

“I found this while cleaning,” he said, holding out an outstretched hand. “It was your mother’s.”

Inside was a six-pointed-star no larger than his thumbnail on a delicate golden chain. Poe was confused—he had never taken his mom for someone who wore jewelry.

When he asked, Kes smiled and shook his head. “Oh, it wasn’t fashion. Your mother wore this to remind her of her home, even while in the air.” He held the pendant out. “She would have wanted you to have it.”

Poe took it. The star felt cool in his hand, even as it left slight indentations on his palm. His mother had almost never told him about her past—or he had been too young to remember. Hell, he didn’t even know what _planet_ she was from. To be able to have a piece of her history, however small—that would be a miracle.

Tearing up, Poe looked back at his father. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad you like it,” said Kes, leaning in to hug his son. “Stay safe for me, will you?”

 

Tragedy struck again ten years later.

Over the past decade, Poe had gotten to know his squadmates very well, trading quips in the air and on the ground. In the absence of L’ulo and his father, Rapier Squadron felt like a second family to him, albeit a bit more foul-mouthed and chaotic than the one left on Yavin. Regardless, Poe felt at ease when he was with them, and felt like he could trust Karé, Iolo, and Muran with anything.

Especially Muran.

As embarrassing as it was to admit it, Poe maybe had a huge crush on the guy. He had no idea if his feelings were returned—at least, not from a reliable source. Karé and Iolo kept insisting that the tension between them was “unbearable,” but Force only knew if they were serious or just heckling him as usual.

He eventually got his chance right before leaving to patrol Mirrin, when Muran had knocked their shoulders together in the hangar with that small half-grin. Poe had taken a deep breath then, closing his eyes.

“Commander?” He opened his eyes to see Muran’s face close to his, eyebrows lowered. When Poe didn’t answer, he gently cupped his face. “Is everything alright?”

Poe nodded, before wrapping his arms around Muran’s waist and closing the distance between them. Muran stood still for a split second, before running his hand through Poe’s hair and kissing back, slowly and gently.

Someone wolf-whistled.

Poe hastily pulled away and turned his head to see the rest of Rapier Squadron rolling their eyes. Iolo was applauding them. Oh, _Force_.

“That’s a hundred credits, Arana, pay up!” yelled Karé, as Poe buried his face in his hand.

“ _Fuck_ you.”

“So much for that moment,” whispered Muran, rolling his eyes.

Poe bit his lip. “Eh, at least it was good while it lasted.” He cocked his head towards the X-wings. “Come on, these babies aren’t gonna pilot themselves.”

“Aye, Commander.” With that, they set off, Poe’s hand gently clasped onto his shoulder. “But later, just you and me.” Poe felt giddy.

It should have been different, though. Had it not been for the First Order, the patrol would have gone smoothly and they would have been back on the ground in no time. But alas, that distress call was sent, and they exited hyperspace for what _should_ have been another meaningless skirmish against a group of TIE fighters.

_Should._

They hadn’t managed to take out the shuttle, couldn’t stop it from jumping into hyperspace. Muran had been caught in the wake, still trying to take them out. His fighter had been ripped apart.

He hadn’t ejected in time.

Poe had screamed his name then, over and over, barely remembering to punch back the coordinates to enter lightspeed. That couldn’t have happened. Muran didn’t just—he couldn’t have died. He _couldn’t_ have—

“Rapier Leader, status report.”

In a daze, Poe had flown with the rest of his squadron had flown back to base. His mind still felt hollow as he reported on the skirmish, hardly able to choke out the fact that Muran—Rapier Four had been lost in the blaster fire.

And the Major hardly took them seriously. Sure, he shook his head sadly at the news of Rapier Four’s death, but when Poe urged him to take action, he seemed indifferent to the danger posed by the First Order, insisting over and over that they were nothing but an “ill-organized” group of loyalists with no real strength.

 _Muran’s dead,_ he wanted to scream. _Muran’s dead, and we’ll be next if nothing’s done._ Poe hardly remembered what he was saying—he was still reeling from the sight of the X-wing caught in the wake, tearing apart—

“It's going to happen again,” Poe heard himself say. “You realize that, don't you?”

Major Deso seemed disinterested. “If it does, it'll be dealt with.”

“So we do _nothing?_ ” he yelled, tears welling up in his eyes. “ _That's_ the solution?”

Blinded by grief (or was it anger? Or both?), Poe had disobeyed the Major, returning to his fighter and tracking down the missing ship himself. The events afterwards felt like a blur—his arrest, Major Ematt leading him away, the meeting with General Organa herself. Almost immediately, he had defected to the Resistance, itching to take a stand against the First Order. Karé and Iolo had joined him, of course, getting promotions to their own squadrons.

And still, Poe couldn’t help but think about Muran. If he would be at their side had things gone differently, if he were to offer his advice in the war room. If he would be in the hangar with Poe after another recon flight, with that same grin and a pair of open arms. And what about his mother? Would she take pride in her son rebelling? Hell, would she have been beside the General, planning their next movements?

Poe could only hope that by taking the next step and fighting back, he would be honoring their memories in some way.

 

All too soon, Finn had come crashing into his life.

The Stormtrooper—no, the _hero_ had pulled him aside just as his life seemed to be at a close, insisting that it was “the right thing to do.” Poe could hardly believe him—surely he just needed a pilot to break him out?

The man’s face had lit up as they orchestrated their escape, hastily making off in the stolen TIE fighter. Once they were properly on their way, he had introduced himself as—no, he couldn’t even _say_ it. He knew the First Order was twisted, but referring to a _human being_ as a number?

“FN, huh?” he had yelled over the din of cannon fire—the ex-Stormtrooper really _was_ a hell of a shot. “I’m calling you Finn, is that alright?”

“Finn? Yeah, I like that!” He seemed delighted at the prospect of receiving a proper name.

His enthusiasm made Poe giddy in a way he hadn’t felt in a while. “I’m Poe Dameron.”

Alas, he hadn’t been quick enough, and the fighter had been sent spiraling down onto the sands of Jakku. To say Poe hadn’t felt grief would be a lie—Finn had been such a kind, daring man, and he was nowhere to be found—but Force, he was a man with a mission to serve the Resistance. He could mourn once he was back on base.

Which, thankfully, never happened. A day later found him still pumped up on adrenaline from Takodana when everything seemingly fell back into place—his fighter, his droid, _Finn._

They had embraced then, relieved that the other was somehow alive. Poe may have let himself get carried away, chattering about his escape and what BB-8 had told him, “—you completed my mission, Finn, and—” Wait. “—that’s my jacket.”

Another miracle: his old leather jacket had survived the wreckage. Honestly, he couldn’t complain—Finn looked twice as heroic now with a proper jacket in place of plastoid armor. Also, kind of attractive.

“Keep it,” he found himself saying, “it suits you.”

It was precisely at that moment that Poe realized he was absolutely smitten.

The meeting with leadership had gone surprisingly smoothly. They had planned their attacks, with Finn providing much-needed information about Starkiller. Then, all that was left was to fight.

As usual.

Poe couldn’t trust himself to form words as he crossed paths with Finn on his way to Black One—all he could do was clasp his shoulder and look at him, hoping that his message was at least partially understood. _Later, buddy. Just you and me._

 

Later never came.

When the _Falcon_ landed back on base, Han was nowhere to be seen and Chewbacca was carrying a limp figure in his arms. Poe’s stomach dropped as he recognized him.

_No._

With a brief glance behind him, he followed the stretcher that Finn had been laid out on, head racing. This had to be a nightmare—surely there was no way that a hero like him could be this close to dying?

The rest of the day had, once again, passed by in a haze. There was excitement, as R2 had woken up and Skywalker’s map was finally complete. Plans were made for the Jakku scavenger to take the _Falcon_ to find him. By all means, the mission had been a success.

And yet, he worried about Finn. Kalonia had assured him and Rey that the hero would be fine, and that the injury to his spine could be mended, but that didn’t stop his anxiety. What _if_ the injury proved to be fatal? Or what if Finn never woke up? Would he be able to cope with his loss? Poe may have only known the guy for a day or so, but Force be damned if he didn’t already feel strongly about him. There was something undeniably special about him; he’d saved Poe’s life and the entire galaxy, for heaven’s sake.

Poe could only sit at his bedside and pray that he wouldn’t have to lose him, too.

The day that Rey left was a cause for celebration. BB-8 had bid her farewell—it seemed the little droid had grown fond of her. Poe was among the crowd as the _Falcon_ had departed D’Qar, hopeful that she’d be able to find Luke.

He only wished that Finn could be awake for all of it.

 

“ _Poe_.”

Poe woke up groggily, shifting to look at the chrono. What was he being woken up at 0250 for?

Unless … something had happened to—

“It’s Finn,” whispered Jess. Instantly, he bolted upright, heart pounding in his throat.

“What’s happening?” he hoarsely whispered, the memory of his mother replaying in front of his eyes. _Poe, Poe, wake up. Mama died._

Jess awkwardly shifted from foot to foot. “I just thought you’d wanna know that—”

He bolted from his quarters.

The duracrete was harsh on his bare soles, but Poe kept sprinting towards the medbay, the worst scenarios flashing through his mind. _He was doing so fine, Kalonia said his vitals were—it’s irreversible, isn’t it? He’s gonna be stuck like this forever—or maybe he really_ is—

“Where’s Finn?” he gasped, rushing into the medbay. Kalonia looked up from her data pad, raising an eyebrow. “ _Where is he?_ ” She pursed her lips and gestured to her right. Vaguely nodding, he walked down the hall, breathing hard.

When he arrived at the bed, Finn was lying in bed with closed eyes. Poe’s stomach plummeted.

“No,” he whispered, shakily sitting down. “Oh, _Force_.”

His mind, racing with grief, forgot to process the rhythmic beeping in the background.

With a groan, Finn propped himself up on the bed, rubbing his forehead. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

Poe’s heart jolted, his eyes filling with tears. “Finn,” he croaked, hands trembling.

Finn’s eyebrows lowered. “Buddy?”

“ _Finn,_ ” he repeated, before leaning in and gently hugging him. Finn stiffened, before wrapping his arms around Poe, who was shaking with every sob.

“Did I scare you that much?” he asked softly.

“N-no, just—” Poe kept his face buried in the crook of his neck. “—I was—so _afraid,_ Finn, I couldn’t lose you too, after M—” He was lost in another fit of tears.

“Oh, Poe.” Finn gently ran his hand across Poe’s back. “I understand.”

Poe made a questioning noise, not trusting himself to speak.

Finn took a deep breath. “Before I met you, my squadmate was shot down.” Poe let out another sob, remembering the Stormtrooper he had shot down. “Hey, I know why you did it. It wasn’t your fault. But that’s not the point.” He sighed. “I was so afraid when I lost you there on Jakku—you were the first to really see me as a person, and I … I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I lost another friend.”

“Finn.” Poe pulled away to look at him.

He smiled weakly. “But don’t worry, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

Poe nodded, gently resting his forehead against Finn’s. “Neither am I, buddy.”

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
